
Class I 

Book 



\l<o 



Copyrights 



t^og 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: 



BOOKS BY MR. SCOLLARD 
•J* 

The Hills of Song ----- $1.00 

The Lyric Bough ------ i.oo 

Voices and Visions ----- i.oo 

SHERMAN, FRENCH ^COMPANY 
BOSTON 



VOICES AND VISIONS 



VOICES AND VISIONS 



BY 



CLINTON SCOLLARD 



Full dark shall be the days in store 
When voice and vision come no more ! 

Aldrich 




BOSTON 
SHERMAN, FRENCH &• COMPANY 

1908 



Copyright iqo8 
Sherman, French &» Company 

Published April igo8 



I wo Copies rifccewJ-J 

APR 23 W08 

C OHY a. 



7% 






CONTENTS 

OF LIFE AND NATURE g 

THE CALL II 

THE DRUM 13 

I WALK DARKLY 15 

THE GUESTS 1 7 

ONE DAY IN MAY * . 1 8 

CHILDREN OF ROMANCE 20 

THERE'S NECROMANCY STILL .... 25 

THE HEART OF THE HILLS 26 

THE GLORY OF THE SPRING .... 28 

A SEA THRALL 30 

DAFFODIL GOLD 3 1 

PRIM A VERA 32 

THE MILL ON THE YARE ..... 33 

FLIGHT 35 

A CICADA 36 

MASTER RAIN 37 

A TRAVELER 38 

MIDSUMMER SONG 39 

MUSIC 40 

woodland lore 4 1 

in autumntide . 42 

wanderer's song 43 

the ruin of the year 44 

autumn anemones 46 

an autumn cricket 47 

the winter sea 48 



FROM THE BOOK OF LOVE ... 49 

THE MASTERS . . 5 1 

BERNARD OF VENT ADORN 54 

THE LADY BLANCHIFLORE 57 

THE BOOK OF DREAM 6 1 

a sailor's SONG 62 

SYLVIA IN THE SPRINGTIME .... 63 

DECLINING SUMMER 64 

SONG 65 

the warden 66 

the love-letter 67 

love's vagrant 69 

a summer song 70 

THE WANE o' THE MOON 7 1 

ELUSION 72 

a lover's SONG 73 

MY DREAMS 74 

MY SPIRIT SOMETIMES GOES . ... 75 

AN AUTUMN IDYL 76 

LOVE IN NOVEMBER 79 

IN A SNOW STORM 8l 

OUT OF THE ORIENT 83 

AT THE DESERT'S MARGE 85 

LEBANON 87 

BALLAD OF ACHMED PASHA .... 89 

AN ORIENTAL SUNRISE ...... 92 

IN GADARA 94 

DAY LILIES 95 



A DESERT NIGHT 97 

THE KHAN 98 

BY HASBAN'S MARGE 99 

BY BARADA 101 

FLAMINGOES . . . . . . . .102 

THE ZITHER PLAYER IO3 

HASSAN AND HASSOUN IO4 

A DRAGOMAN 106 

KHALID ALl's PRAYER ...... 107 

THE MERCHANT IO9 

THE MEADS OF BESSIMA IIO 



yf RE you a lover? Come! — 
-*jL A lover of wilding things! - 
The bee's low, haunting hum, 

The skyward whirring of wings; 

Murmurs of reed and rush 
To the rill adventuring by; 

Out of the underbrush 
The cuckoo's shifting cry; 

Bruised sassafras scent; 

The sweet-flag's tonic taste; 
The wind's cool instrument 

Wholly as soiled of haste! 

I would take your hand 

And lead you into the wild; 

There we should understand, 
Each like a little child. 

And the loving mother-earth, 
Wise to the depths of her loam, 

She should cry out with mirth, 

"Here are my babes come home!' 



OF LIFE AND NATURE 



THE CALL 

O'ER violet-dotted height and king-cup hollow 
The Spirit calls me, and I fain would follow. 
Old crabbed, creeping Age, 
With its warped heritage, 
Have I forsworn, 

Clasping again the ardors of the morn. 
I need no staff ; 

'Tis prop enough to hear the rushes laugh, 
And see 

The frolic of the leaves upon the tree 
What'er it be, — 

Or gracile elm or supple hickory! 
I am aware all nature feels with me 
The impulse of the call; 
The vine upon the wall 
Raptures and thrills to every tendril tip, 
And cherry chalices, sweetly virginal, 
Pulse to the very lip. 

Yellow and red and rimpling russet throat 
Have caught the mandate note, 
And, while I hearken, 

From birchen coppices that greenly darken 
'Tis fluted with ecstatic variation ; 
And lo, the fleet elation 

Kindles along the swale-lands where unfold 
The torches of the bright marsh-marigold! 

[ ii ] 



The trilliums ethereal trumpets blow — 

What ho! what ho! 

Below, 

Even the tiny creepers of the sod 

Have listened and responded; 

Wry-rooted mandrakes beck and nod; 

The ferns are freshly fronded; 

Agile ephemerae, winged with fluttering gauze, 

Tingle and tremble, 

Circle afar, up-dart and re-assemble 

As though in key w T ith earth's melodious laws. 

Over the pebble 

The rhythmic water tinkles with new treble; 

Swift-fluttering psyche, as in keen delight, 

Beguiles the fancy with strange loops of flight; 

The shy moth apprehends in the lush shade; 

The mosses shimmer with a livelier luster; 

Mushrooms upleap in sudden creamy cluster, 

And lichens shine, in silvery gloss arrayed. 

O fragrant fires 

Sprinkled with vernal incense! O desires 
Renascent, with your billowy resurgence, 
Your all-imperious urgence, 
You teach me how the soul of man aspires! 
Spirit, like Truth, 
Keeps its eternal youth, 

And quickeneth me until I fain would follow 
O'er violet-dotted height and king-cup hollow! 
[ 12 ] 



THE DRUM 

TJ OLLf roll! 

XV ,r pis a S ound that thrills sheer to the soul ; 

When I hear it, 

It is not to fear it, 

But rather to cheer it! 

Now plangent, now pleading; 

Receding, 

Or swelling 

Sonorous, and telling, 

With ominous rattle, 

Of battle. 

Lo, squadrons are forming 
For storming! 

Roll! roll! 
Not the shrill of the fife, 
Insistent with glorious life, 

Can clutch at the spirit, control, 
Like that dominant throbbing. Away 
They have plunged to the fray 
With the light of emprise 
In their eyes. 



[ 13 ] 



Roll! roll! 

What leads over valley and slope 

Through the roar and the hum? 
'Tis the voicing of Hope, — 

'Tis the drum! 
Hark! piercing through darkness and dole, 
Inspiring to valor 
White pallor, 

It carries the crest to the gates 
Where red sacrifice waits, — 
Waits with its chrism for the soul! 
Roll! roll! 



[ 14 ] 



I WALK DARKLY 

I WALK darkly down the day, 
Sanguine, and yet never sure 
If the noon's abundant ray 

In its brightness shall endure; 
Brooding calm or crying storm, 

Sunrise glory, sunset splendor, 
Beauty in each shifting form, 

Grave or tender, — 
Through them, time of frost or flower, 
Conscious every orbed hour, 
I walk darkly. 

I walk darkly down the night, 

Slave to marvel, questioning 
If the moon's ethereal light 

Be not some dream-builded thing; 
Under star on swirling star, 

Meteor dust and comet's fire, 
Vaults of purple faint and far 

Where expire 
Tiny wavering flecks of flame, 
Atom-points without a name, 
I walk darkly. 



c is] 



I walk darkly; peace or stress, 

Crest of joy or depth of woe, 
I may grope and I may guess, 

Fancy, and yet never know. 
Just the husk of truth I grip, — 

Heaped wisdom of the ages, 
Learning's mightiest fellowship, 

Saints and sages, — 
In despite of each and all, 
What am I but folly's thrall 
Who walk darkly? 



[ 16] 



THE GUESTS ^ 

BUILDED upon a most mysterious plan, 
There is an inn we call The Heart of Man. 
And through the door thereof as through a glass 
I saw guests pass, 
A troop strange-garmented. 
Big-browed Ambition led, 

With brightly glistening bays about the head; 
Then, with mild eyes aflame, 
And lips a-smile, Love came, 
Bearing white violets and rosemary; 
And next pale Pity went, 
Her hollow cheeks besprent 
With the pearl-precious tears of sympathy; 
Like to a buoyant boy 
Leaped Joy, 
Whom after Grief 
Crept like the palsied leaf 
The winds of autumn whirl amid the dust; 
Then glooming Hate and Lust; 
And, with averted eye, 
Hypocrisy. 

" Strange comradeship ! " unto my soul I said, 

And my soul answered, 

" Think what his lot must be 

Who entertains this motley company ! " 

[ 17 ] 



ONE DAY IN MAY 

DO you recall, old friend, how we 
Pulled up the Wye one day in May? 
The bloom was on the hawthorn tree, 
And many an upland meadow way 
Showed plots of hyacinths as blue 
As glints of sky the clouds let through. 

We left gray Chepstow's walls behind, — 
Its crumbling keep, its burst of chimes; 

With us went wooingly the wind, 
Repeating little liquid rhymes; 

And with us, too, the tide's long sweep 

From Severn and the outer deep. 

Spring's choristers from either shore 
Flung us their softly silvery hail ; 

Each time we raised or dipped the oar, 
Lo, the sweet burden of a tale 

As ancient as the hills, and keyed 

To match our spirits' vernal need ! 

The heights slipped by; the lowlands swung 
Like winged dreams athwart our ken; 

Thatched farmsteads where the ivy clung 
Swam in the westering light, and then, 

Beyond lush tree and lichened stile, 

Loomed Tintern's dim monastic pile, 
[ 18 ] 



We shipped the oars and stepped to land; 

Sauntered the village streets, and clomb 
Wide loops of path until we scanned 

The valley, — water, wood and loam 
Umber beneath the plowman's blade, 
Or in faint gold and green arrayed. 

Into a hill gap drooped the sun, 
Flooding divinely, ere it went, 

The abbey windows one by one 
With an ethereal ravishment, — 

Ambers and crimsons such as play 

About the funeral pyre of day. 

Then twilight's purples, and her peace, 
And the calm lifting of the moon! 

O Memory, may'st thou never cease 
To grant to me this gracious boon, — 

The vision of that bygone time 

When May and youth were both at prime! 



[ 19 ] 



CHILDREN OF ROMANCE 

IN MEMORY OF 

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 

(COOPERSTOWN, NEW YORK, AUGUST 8, I907) 

WHERE round Hellenic headlands the blue 
seas 
Sweep with melodious beat Romance was born, 
Within her eyes the untrammeled harmonies 
And ardors of the morn. 

Her impulses are glad as those that run 

At nesting-time from wing to shimmering wing, 
That mount from root to bough-top when the sun 
Loosens the sap in spring. 

And since her radiant birth-hour long ago 

She hath bequeathed her ichor and her zest, — 
Kindling her virile children with the glow 
From her impassioned breast. 

She was the soul of Chivalry ; when night, — 

Those purblind ages, sanguine and obscure, — 
Oppressed mankind, hers was the torch to light 
Trouvere and Troubadour. 

She was to Marlowe an inspiring ray; 

No vital charm from Shakespere she concealed; 
She walked with Sidney through that last red day 
On Zutphen's fatal field. 

[ 20 ] 



She was a voice heroic, eloquent, 

With many a virginal and varied chord, 
The gamut of a mighty instrument, 
To him of Abbotsford. 

And unto him we hail and hold our own, 

Our Pioneer, for whom green laurels be, 
She spake in accents of primeval tone 
From forest and from sea. 

Ope but the record of his storied page 

And learn how loyally he worshiped her! 
Through him we gain a precious heritage, — 
A new interpreter. 

Soon will the redman rest beneath the mold, 
Naught but a name, a vision-vanished race; 
And yet through Cooper's genius will he hold 
An unforgotten place. 

But yesterday at twilight-time I strayed, 

And heard the wood-thrush chant its evening mass 
From out the inter-braiding boughs that shade 
The shores of Glimmer-Glass. 

Cleaving the distance on its vibrant course, 

Silvered the soft insistence of a bell, 
And o'er the Susquehanna's tranquil source 
The velvet shadows fell; 
[ 21 ] 



They gathered where the great Romancer slept — 

Whose fancy many a form with life imbued — 
In that God's Acre where he long has kept 
Earth's final quietude. 

The hour was fraught with magic, for it brought 

Forth from the neighboring aisleways of the pine 
Those whom his rapt imagination wrought, 
Line upon silent line. 

First the immortal woodsman, gun on arm, 

Deerslayer — Pathfinder — hero to the last, 
The spell of whose incomparable charm 
O'er all our hearts is cast. 

And those high-natured warriors of the wild, 

Father and son, of the undaunted look, — 
Beloved Uncas, knightly forest child, 
And noble Chingachgook. 

And swarthy seamen, savoring of the surge, 

Rovers upon the unconquerable main, 
Triumphant, although winds and waters merge, 
O'er peril and o'er pain. 

And shadowy others, — bravo, patriot, maid, — 

From many a land, our own and alien climes; 
Dim wraiths ! — and yet the figment of a shade 
The master's touch sublimes. 
[22 ] 



Such was the pageant of my vesper dream 

While fluctuant starlight round me fireflies threw, 
And heavenly starlight gilded with its gleam 
Otsego's breadth of blue. 

Ah, he may sleep, the magian whose pen 

Transfigured out of naught such pulsing lives, 
Yet midst the ceaseless moil of mortal men 
His spirit still survives! 

Here where he dwelt and strove in human guise 

Around whose name are quenchless lusters shed, 
What lip shall dare, in unbelieving wise, 
Declare that he is dead? 

In yonder sacred garth his dust may rest, 

But that so potent essence which was he 
Strides with the sunlight up the mountain crest, 
More animate than we. 

The lake he loved, the forest paths his feet 
In other days were wont to fare along, 
Are lush with summer opulence, are sweet 
With sunshine and with song. 

The air is tinct with attar faint and fine 

That morning from the dewy loam distills; 
Through it, with what transcendent beauty, shine 
His wooded homeland hills! 
[ 23 ] 



Here let us leave him, one with mother-earth 
That yielded him so pure and rich a store, — 
One with her mood of primal grief and mirth 
Till time shall be no more! 



[24] 



THERE'S NECROMANCY STILL 

THERE'S necromancy still! 
The rathe marsh-marigold 
An Ophir makes of yonder oozy mold; 
Slim branches erewhile stark and dark and chill,- 
The wild wayfaring-tree, — 
(Oh, wondrous wizardry!) 
Offer a fragrant Hybla where the bee 
May drink his greedy fill ! 
Care must attend whatever path you tread, 
Lest your foot crush some fair and fragile head, 
Shatter white innocence, leave budding hope 
Bruised on the dewy slope. 
But yester night 

All the wide earth lay barren of delight 
That now is splendor-bright before the sight. 
And so, my masters, say whatso you will 
There's necromancy still! 



[ 25 ] 



1/ 

THE HEART OF THE HILLS 

IN the lyric tide of April, in the month of daf- 
fodils, 
In the gush of the gold of morning I came to the 

heart of the hills,- — 
Came by a virgin pathway that the vernal goddess 

trod 
On her singing way from the southland over the 

sleeping sod. 
And a chorus of choiring voices ever anigh me 

spake, 
The tawny throat by the rillside, the red-breast out 

of the brake, 
The pipers hid in the rushes, with their clear 

"Chee-weep! chee-weep! ,, 
And the fleet wind-children chanting their runes of 

the upper deep. 
A flush of rose and of amber, of sapphire and beryl 

shade, — 
These were the woven glories that the waking 

morn displayed; 
Beauty above and about me! Fluctuant? fading? 

nay! 
Glowing, flowing, and growing in the rising flood 

of the day! 
The soul within me was buoyant, and the spirit in 

me was one 

[ 26 ] 



With the throb of the great earth-passion, with the 

thrill of the vital sun. 
I felt in my veins the pulsing, I knew in my thews 

the power 
That stirred in the root of the grasses, that breathed 

through the lips of the flower. 
If but for the span of a moment I swam in the 

aura of flame; 
I caught the rapt secret of being clothed by the 

Ineffable Name. 
And chastened with wonder and strengthened to 

meet life's beleaguering ills 
I went, like a bondman unfettered, adown from the 

heart of the hills. 



[ 27 ] 



THE GLORY OF THE SPRING 

I HEARD the lyric passion in the night, 
And felt my pulses leap as to a tune 

Played upon pipes celestial; rapt delight 
Mastered wholly, for methought the rune 
Wan Winter had been mouthing to the moon 
Must cease, and even as I hearkened, lo, 
Naught filled the darkness save the overflow 

Of life renascent mounting as on wing! 
And when dawn set the orient sky aglow, 

Behold, behold the glory of the Spring! 

In liveries of living emerald dight, 

The hilltops hailed each other; dale and dune 

Sparkled with spangled splendors, beryl bright; 
Above, the heights of heaven seemed to swoon 
With hyacinthine hues that presaged June; 
Through every copse ran rapture to and fro, 
The wood-thrush vying with the vireo; 

And Minstrel Rillet touched a silvern string, 
And Trouvere South Wind lipped his flute to 
blow — 

" Behold, behold the glory of the Spring! " 



[28 ] 



And there were Flora's firstlings, spindrift white, 

And amber ardent as the rays of noon, 
Thronging the woods as for some fairy rite 

With branches waving a fantastic croon ; — 

The modest violet, its breath a boon 

To perfume-lovers; the cupped trillium's snow; 

The bright marsh-marigolds in ring or row, 
All seeming with ecstatic sense to sing 

In virginal and tender tribute " O 
Behold, behold the glory of the Spring! " 

Prime o' the year, within our hearts we know 
Thy benediction after Winter's woe 

Is sweeter far than any earthly thing! 
Promise unfolds what shining fields to sow! 

Behold, behold the glory of the Spring! 



[ 29 ] 



A SEA THRALL 

THE murmur and the moaning of the sea, 
They master me ; 
I am the serf of sound, 
Bondslave to aural beauty grave or gay; 
Happy to be so bound, 
I hang upon the lyric tides that sway 
Night's swimming satellite of ice and fire 
Compacted, and although I flee away, 
Upon the falcon pinions of desire, 
Into the wood's most secret sanctuary, 
Or hide amid the mountain's mightiest rocks, 
Where, in a mood maniacal, the wind 
Mouths like old doddering Lear, and mocks and 

mocks 
At all of lower earth, I may not find 
Escape from those vast fugues that veer and vary 
As do the moods and mazes of the mind. 
Yea, I am thrall complete 
(Finding the thraldom sweet) 
To thee, to thee, 
O all-embracing and most sovereign sea! 



[30] 



DAFFODIL GOLD 

GOLD of the daffodil, drawn 
Out of the cup of the dawn, 
Gold of the daffodil, born 
In the bright mines of the morn, 
Gold of the daffodil, spun 
On the warm loom of the sun, 
Flood through my spirit, and smite 
Me with thine orient light! 
I that am pallid and poor, 
Wasted by winter away, 
Be thou my succor and cure! 
Quicken my questioning clay! 
That I may rouse me and sing, 
Touch thou my pulses with spring! 



[ 3i ] 



PRIMAVERA 

PRIMAVERA! primavera! 
Thus the golden thrushes call 
In cool sallies down the valleys 

Where the Umbrian fountains fall. 
Ah, the rapture that they capture, — 

Wanderers by slope and shore ! 
Primavera! primavera! 

Spring is in the south once more. 

Primavera! primavera! 

Roses by the Roman wall 
Yield the guerdon of the burden 

Of an attar magical. 
Life's deep measure brimmed with pleasure 

Offers nothing to deplore; 
Primavera I p rimavera ! 

Spring is in the south once more. 

Prim aver a! p rimavera ! 

'Tis the heart-refrain of all, 
Lord or lowly, base or holy, 

Where Calabrian peaks are tall. 
Lads and lasses down the passes 

Lilt love's olden lyric lore ; 
Primavera! primavera! 

Spring is in the south once more. 
[ 32 ] 



THE MILL ON THE YARE 

ONE with legend and the past; 
Every beam and every board 
Touched by the iconoclast 

Time, more potent than the sword; 
Crumbling, and yet strangely fair, 
Stands the old mill on the Yare. 

There are vines that love it well, — 

Ivy and the clematis; 
Droops and dips the foxglove bell 

Where the weir's clear margin is; 
And the iris leaneth there 
By the old mill on the Yare. 

Lilting waters all day long 

Meet in silvern melody; 
While there mounts the plaintive song 

Of the throstle in the tree; 
And the skylark charms the air 
O'er the old mill on the Yare. 

Cross the lintel. From the flume 
Drones the mill wheel dull and low; 

Through the dense and dusty gloom 
Plods the miller, grave and slow; 

And he seems his years to wear 

Like the old mill on the Yare. 
[ 33 ] 



Here is patience; here is peace; 

Ah, I would my days might run 
To the hour of long release 

From all toil beneath the sun 
Dreamily as they do there 
In the old mill on the Yare ! 



[ 34] 



FLIGHT 

TELL me where goes 
The wraith that was the rose, 
Or lily, dight 
With delicate delight! 

Tell me where flies 
The gold of morning skies, 
The radiant dream 
Hid in the sunset beam; 

And I will say- 
Whither life slips away 
Into the dusk, 
Leaving an ashen husk! 



[ 35 ] 



A CICADA 

HERE'S a hail, O brown cicada, tuning 
In the golden heat, 
O'er the thrush's plaint, the cuckoo's crooning, 
Strident and yet sweet! 

You bring back the faded dream-creations 

Of the days antique; 
You inspire the glorious elations 

Of the perished Greek! 

Not so much the Spartan thought of duty 

Held so close to heart, 
As the love and worship of pure beauty 

Both in song and art ! 

Strange an insect's shrill half-rhythmic dower 

Works such wondrous ends, 
Yet association's magic power 

Time and space transcends! 

Phidian line of frieze; the Sophoclean 

Tragic lift and fall; 
Pipes Pandean by the old ^gean, — 

You revive them all! 



[ 36] 



MASTER RAIN 

STRIDING, striding over the sea, 
Calming the rage of the waves goes he, 
Lulling the moan of the mighty main, 
Assuaging Master Rain! 

Marching, marching over the land, 
Scattering wide, with a lavish hand, 
Draughts for the thirsting seed of the grain, 
Bountiful Master Rain! 

Never, never a wanderer long; 

Ever, ever a-brim with song, — 

A plaintive, pleading, pleasuring strain, — 

Musical Master Rain! 

Welcome thou when the shadows sleep! 
Welcome thou when the dreams are deep! 
Bearing Peace to Penance and Pain, 
Merciful Master Rain! 

Old as the host of the hills of earth, 
Yet as young as the soul of mirth, 
Fain we are of thee, all of us, fain, 
Brotherly Master Rain! 



[ 37 ] 



A TRAVELER 

INTO the dusk and snow 
One fared on yesterday; 
No man of us may know 
By what mysterious way. 

He had been comrade long; 

We fain would hold him still; 
But, though our will be strong, 

There is a stronger Will. 

Beyond the solemn night 

He will find morning-dream, — 
The summer's kindling light 

Beyond the snow's chill gleam. 

The clear, unfaltering eye, 

The inalienable soul, 
The calm, high energy, — 

They will not fail the goal! 

Large will be our content 

If it be ours to go 
One day the path he went 

Into the dusk and snow! 



[ 38 ] 



MIDSUMMER SONG 

D AWNINGS of amber and amethyst eves; 
Soft in the south wind the laughter of leaves ; 
Breath of the poppy and death of the rose, — 
Midsummer comes and midsummer goes! 

Dapple on cheek of the apple and plum; 
Honey-bees droning a die-away hum; 
Swales in a shimmer and dales in a doze, — 
Midsummer comes and midsummer goes! 

Darting of dragon-fly, flutter of moth; 
Barley in windrow and wheat in the swath; 
Hush-song and thrush-song! — the mother-bird 

knows ! — 
Midsummer comes and midsummer goes! 

Moonlight and noonlight all glamour and gleam; 
Hillside and rillside a thrall to the dream ; 
Capture the rapture before the days close ! — 
Midsummer comes and midsummer goes! 



[ 39 ] 



MUSIC 

THERE is an organ in my elm, 
A harp within my maple tree; 
And Maestro Wind from each compels 
An equal harmony ; — 

At morning a sonata clear, 
A symphony superb at noon; 

And with the soft descent of eve 
A pure and pensive tune. 

What need have I in crowded towns 
To seek for grand orchestral scores, 

When daily through my casement drift 
These airs of out-of-doors! 



[40] 



WOODLAND LORE 

DEARER than the wisdom of the ages 
Is the lore wherein I would be seer ; 

ye flowers, unfold your fragrant pages! 
And, ye druid trees, speak morning-clear! 

Many a time have I sought out the dimmest 
Woodland heart-ways, consecrate and lone, 

Where the spectral birch-wand rises slimmest, 
And the rill assumes its tenderest tone. 

Many a tide, sere-vestitured or vernal, 
I the fern-fringed, loamy paths have trod 

Questingly, and harked the sempiternal 
Whispers of the brethren of the sod. 

Yet have gained, despite my wander-gleaning, 
But the alluring husk and not the core ; 

1 who long to probe each hidden meaning, 

I who yearn to learn all woodland lore. 

Dearer than the secrets of the sages 
Is the wisdom wherein I'd be seer; 

So, ye flowers, unfold your fragrant pages! 
And, ye druid trees, speak morning-clear! 



[41 ] 



IN AUTUMNTIDE 

THE apple seeds are black at core; 
The linden leaves, like fairy ore, 
Shed the effulgence of their gold, 
Paving the pathways green before. 

More plaintive grows the thrush's pipe; 
The quince's cheek is yellow ripe; 

And the smooth pallor of the pear 
Reveals, like dawn, a crimson stripe. 

The minstrel wind behind the hill 
Above its strings is never still; 

Autumn through all the brooding land 
Works the rich wonder of its will. 

As in a necromancer's glass, 

We watch the radiant pageant pass, 

Wood waving banner back to wood 
Across the severing seas of grass. 

Forgetful what the hours presage, 
We feel that we have plucked a page 

From the untroubled Book of Dream, — 
A leaf from out the Golden Age! 



[42 ] 



WANDERERS SONG 

THERE will be, when I come home, through the 
hill-gap in the west, 
The friendly smile of the sun on the fields that I 

love best; 
The red-topped clover here, and the white-whorled 

daisy there, 
And the bloom of the wilding briar that attars the 

upland air; 
There will be bird-mirth sweet — (mellower none 

may know!) — 
The flute of the hermit-thrush, the call of the vireo ; 
Pleasant gossip of leaves, and from the dawn to 

the gloam 
The lyric laughter of brooks there will be when 

I come home. 

There will be, when I come home, the kindliness of 
the earth — 

Ah, how I love it all, bounteous breadth and girth! 

The very sod will say, — tendril, fiber, and root, — 

" Here is our foster-child, he of the wandering foot. 

Welcome! welcome! " And, lo! I shall pause at a 
gate ajar 

That the leaning lilacs shade, where the honey- 
suckles are; 

I shall see the open door — O farer over the foam, 

The ease of this hunger of heart there will be when 
I come home! 

[ 43 ] 



THE RUIN OF THE YEAR 

BEHIND the hills the wind is like a hound 
That whines and whimpers at his master's 
door 
Against him barred ; there is a solemn sound 
Where murmured mirth and melody before 
Amid the treetops; music mounts no more 
Down shady lanes that part the meadow land; 
Above, the reaches of the sky are spanned 
By swirling vapors ominous and drear; 

Veiled are the hyaline heavens blue and bland; 
Around us lies the ruin of the year! 

Within the girdle of the garden ground, — 

That fragrant Indies, — frost has filched the ore 

The summer spread so royally around; 
Gold of the. marigold; the princely store 
Of radiant roses lavish with their lore 
Of sweet endearment; the slim lily band, 
Chaliced of snow and amber, that expand 

What time the sun is a benignant sphere, — 

All these have bowed before death's dark demand ; 

Around us lies the ruin of the year! 



[44] 



Thick are the orchard leaves oil moss and mound; 
The Hesperidian fruit, of juicy core, 

Is harvested or stilled; in icy swound 
The river that complaineth to the shore 
Will soon be bound in fetters firm and frore; 
Like tepees tall and tenantless now stand 
The stooks of corn that once waved pennons 
grand 

Ere 'neath the noon was husked the ruddy ear, 
And young Love's lips fond hearts to ardor 
fanned ; 

Around us lies the ruin of the year! 

Masters, the spring awaits, with kindling brand, 
To quicken life where life to-day is banned, — 

To wake to bud and bloom the sad and sere ; 
This faith have we albeit on every hand 
Around us lies the ruin of the year! 



[45 ] 



AUTUMN ANEMONES 

BLITHE and brave 
In the wind the anemones wave, 
As gracile as water soft-rimpled, 
All dappled and dimpled; 
As tender as modest maid-laughter 
With smiles stealing after. 
To and fro, to and fro, 
Like the low throb of music they go; 
There's the rhythmical sway in their motion 
Of undulant ocean; 
They harbor the pearl and the fawn 
And the rose-flush of dawn. 
My heart dances with them, as light 
As the lift of their petals, more fleet 
Than the beat 
Of the feet 
Of the deer, 

Though they lead to the winter — and night- 
Down the slope of the Year! 



[ 46 ] 






V 

AN AUTUMN CRICKET 

IN the warm hush of the autumnal night 
I list one lonely cricket sound its clear 
Persistent music, telling that the year 
Has passed the summer zenith of delight. 
And though I know that soon in gypsy flight 
The birds will wing, and all the hills grow drear, 
Yet doth my heart keep constant hold on cheer, 
Hearkening this tiny minstrel-eremite. 

Then keep thy fine-keyed instrument in tune, 
O small musician, till the last leaf falls, 

And the last blossom shrivels with the rime, 
That I may stray through Autumn's ruined halls, 
With golden memories for a buoy and boon, 
Indifferent to the onward tread of Time! 



[ 47 ] 



THE WINTER SEA 

LANDWARD the breakers roll and run, 
The gray-white ospreys near and flee, 
Beneath the long slant winter sun 
Beside the winter sea. 

With chilly gleam the shingle shines; 

The sand with icy umber glows; 
Back from the beach the stunted pines 

Stand somber in the snows. 

The horizon shows a steely glint, — 
A line by pickets white patrolled; 

The empty zenith holds the hint 
Of cruelty and cold. 

The north-wind clarions; 'tis a dirge, 

A requiem, a threnody, 
Keyed to the sad sound of the surge 

Beside the winter sea. 



[48 ] 






FROM THE BOOK OF LOVE 



[ 49 ] 



THE MASTERS 

FIRST Duty bade me rise, 
He of the imperious eyes, 
And strive to gain some goal of high emprise; 
He held within his hand 
The scepter of command; 
I read upon his brow small kindliness, 
But rather, in the interlacing lines, 
Stern struggle and interminable stress; 
His voice betrayed no soothing or caress, 
But iron urgence like that plunging surge 
Which breaks on the antipodal confines 
Of earth, where reef and water meet and merge. 
Straightway I roused and went, 
Not with the calm elation of content, 
But with resolve in clutch 

Wherewith I joined the grapple, mastering much, 
Yet when the task was done 
I was as one 
Who sits and broods upon the drooping sun. 

Then flushed Ambition came 
And touched me with his moving mandate-flame, 
Kindling within my breast 
No temperate zest, 
But the upmounting fire 
Of an unquenchable desire. 
[ 5i ] 



I felt a sudden ichor in me leap 

That banished sleep, 

And made the longest day's meridian 

Seem but the briefest span. 

I that had been, in intimate wise, aware 

Of myriad forms of beauty round me strewn, — 

The virginal vasts of air, 

The tiniest blossom underneath the noon, — 

Held by this merciless thrall, 

Forgot them all. 

And after hours of infinite endeavor, 

Grasping the fruit to find it ash at core, 

I was as one who wandereth forever 

A hapless waif upon a barren shore. 

Last Love before me stood 

In radiant masterhood, 

And hasted me upon his ardent quest; 

Lo, at his swift behest, 

As though with pinions fleet my feet were shod! 

Where'er I trod 

I was companioned as with spheric singing, 

Rapt period upon rapt period 

In rhythm ecstatic swinging. 

Yea, although skies of wrath 

Menaced above my path, 

And my spent breath 

Sheer to the gates of Death 

[ 52 ] 



Led me, unwearied of will, 

Hale Exultation was my comrade still! 

And when my space of service-time was ended, — 

Love's glorious employ, — 

I was henceforth as one who is attended 

By the fond presence of some living joy. 



[53] 



BERNARD OF VENTADORN 

BRAVE was Bernard of Ventadorn 
As any knight in Christendie; 
Albeit he was lowly born, 
No fear of aughtsoe'er had he. 
Straight in his pointed shoon he stood 
As a young birch tree in the wood. 
Within his eyes the sun and shade 
Did meet and mingle wondrously, 
While round about his winsome mouth 
Fleet little lights of laughter played, 
Like butterflies about a flower 
Upon a lattice looking south 
From some old dreamy garden bower. 

Blithe was Bernard of Ventadorn 

As is the spirit of the spring 

When April quickens everything 

From root of reed to tip of tree ; 

As is the miracle of morn, 

Its freshness, its virility. 

And, sooth, what could he do but sing, 

He to whom God had given for dower 

Song, and its soul-uplifting power! 

What could he do but sing of all 

Of nature's marvelment and mirth — 

[54] 



The vocal rapture of the earth, 
The subtle, perfumed bliss thereof; 
And when love caught his heart in thrall 
What could he do but sing of love! 

Bold was Bernard of Ventadorn! 

Did he not dare to lift his eyes 

Up to the blush-rose face of her 

Whose name went ringing to the skies 

When knights from booth and pennoned tent 

Rode gaily to the tournament ? — 

She who had silenced with a scorn 

As bitter to the taste as myrrh 

The lips of princelings. Aye, and more 

Than this he dared! He held her mute 

WitL. the low passion of his lute, 

The while he told, in words as low, 

Of love and all its deathless lore, 

Its poignancy of joy and woe. 

Glad was Bernard of Ventadorn! 
Yea, borne unto the crest of bliss 
By the rapt guerdon of her kiss! 
E'en the inexorable thorn 
Of banishment left him not lorn. 
Parting and pain he rose above, 
Knowing the crown of perfect love, 
Knowing love's sempiternal flower, 

[ 55 ] 



And, knowing it, he sang thereof 
Till life's last fading twilight hour. 
Ah, lovers, ye who tread to-day 
The rose-and-myrtle-bordered way, 
If ye may feel a love like his, 
Then have ye glimpsed below a ray 
Of paradisal ecstasies! 



[ 56] 



THE LADY BLANCHIFLORE 

THE lovely Lady Blanchiflore 
Had scores of lovers fain and fond; 
They flocked to bow her feet before 
From Tarascon to Trebizond, 
And many another outland place, 
Beseeching of her grace. 
They told her tales of all their store, — 
The lovely Lady Blanchiflore, — 
They told her tales of all their love, 
The truth and tenderness thereof; 
And yet, day following creeping day, 
She said them " nay." 

Then roused her wrathful sire and swore, 
" By all the saints, but she shall wed, 
The lovely Lady Blanchiflore; 
No longer shall she bring disgrace 
Through the cold fairness of her face 
Upon the towers of Blanchiflore 
With all their girth and goodlihead! " 
She looked within his eyes and smiled 
As doth a child. 

There dwelt a jongleur in that court, 
And a right proper man was he, 
The ballad-singer Broiefort; 
[ 57 ] 



And since 'twas but a small degree 

Of land and gold he held in fee 

He nursed his passion silently, ( 

Albeit his eyes spake, and her eyes 

(Deep eyes had Lady Blanchiflore) 

Had answered him entreating wise. 

Pride stood between them evermore; 

But now ! — but now ! — her bower door 

She closed, the Lady Blanchiflore; 

A little space her lips were dumb ; 

Then, with a swift resolve, she cried, 

" I'll slay the grisly giant Pride, 

An he but come! " 

The morrow morn they led her in 

(Her maidens) garbed gloriously, 

Up to a dais by the wall 

Of the high-vaulted banquet hall; 

Then did the hoary seneschal 

Proclaim, while clarions made din 

Without, the Lady Blanchiflore 

Would that day choose her heart's own knight 

From those who passed before her sight, 

For thus her sire in anger swore 

(Yea, by the blessed Trinity!) 

That it should be. 



1 58 ] 



They came, proud prince and paladin, 
Duke, earl and baron, and the sun, 
Through the tall wmdows pouring in, 
A braver scene ne'er shone upon. 
No sign made she the while her sire 
From rigid marble flamed to fire, 
Plucked at his beard, clutched at his sword, 
Cursed her by turns, by turns deplored. 
" And ye will not, — " at last he roared,— 
"Stay!" spake she, with beseeching voice, 
('Twas oil on raging waters poured!) 
" Music might move me to my choice ! " 

"Music! God's rood! bring Broiefort!" 

At sight of whom — "Sing, songbird, sing! 

Thou art a bard of good report; 

If thou canst thaw yon frozen thing, 

Ask whatsoe'er thou wilt of me 

Within my whole wide empery! " 

The jongleur took his place before 

The lovely Lady Blanchiflore ; 

A breathing space their glances met; 

He touched a string, he clasped a fret, 

And then he sang until in thrall 

Were all in that vast banquet hall, 

Yet the enamored worshiper 

Sang but to her. 

[ 59 ] 



He ceased, and lo! a rippling gush 

Of acclamation stormed the hush! 

The rose and lily in her face, — 

The lovely Lady Blanchiflore, — 

Commingled for a little space, 

Then ruled the rose as ne'er before. 

Down from the dais o'er the floor 

She sped (where now was giant Pride?) 

And halted by the minstrel's side. 

Her sire, he mouthed a mighty oath, — 

" By Christ, His wounds ! " — while sudden glee 

Stirred the old rafters ringingly; 

" 'Tis thus the wind blows, then ! " he quoth. 

" I am twice sworn and pledged, I see. 

Seek out the priest, where'er he be ! 

If there's aught more to say — what more? " 

" Naught ! " — blushed the Lady Blanchiflore. 



[ 60] 






THE BOOK OF DREAM 

I READ in the untroubled Book of Dream 
Of beatific things, 
Lovely imaginings, 

The splendid pomps and pageants of old kings,- 
Gleam upon golden gleam! 
Each glamoured line 
To my enraptured vision 
Under unclouded arches sapphirine 
Made revelation and interpretation, 
(Ah, but they seemed divine!) 
Of sights that swam elusive yet elysian. 
From rune to silver rune rippled the theme 
Of the charmed Book of Dream 
Until it touched on love, and on your name 
Girt as with morning flame. 
There was I fain to dwell, 
Brooding above each lyric syllable; 
But nay — eclipse! 
What broke the spell, 
Darkened the beam, 
Closed the sweet Book of Dream? 
Your laughter, and swift after 
Your kiss upon my lips! 



[ 61 ] 



A SAILOR'S SONG 

WE kissed good-by in the gloaming 
Ere the moon crept up the sky ; 
" When, love, will you be homing? " 

She cried, with a teary eye; 
" When will you cease from roaming 

The breast of the barren sea, 
And come to another breast for rest, — 
To the longing heart o' me? " 

Then I said to her, low and slow, — 
" O it's ever the lad must go, 

And it's ever the lass must stay, 
And that is the tale of the world-old woe 
Till the trump of the judgment-day! " 

Still I hear her voice enthralling, 

And I see her standing there, 
With the night's deep shadows falling 

On the dawn-break of her hair. 
And ever her calling, calling, 

Floats over the southern sea, 

" Come back to my aching breast with rest 
For the longing heart o' me ! " 
But I cry to her, low and slow, — 
" O it's ever the lad must go, 

And it's ever the lass must stay, 
And that is the tale of the world-old woe 
Till the trump of the judgment-day!" 

[62] 






SYLVIA IN THE SPRINGTIME 

VOICE of the youth of the year, 
Wren song and thrush song and cuckoo note 
clear ! 
Melody's core, the articulate soul of the Spring, — 
Oh, to hear Sylvia sing! 

Flower of the youth of the year, 

Bell of the hyacinth, daffodil-spear! 

Day dream of beauty and veriest vision of grace, — 

Oh, to see Sylvia's face! 



[ 6 3 ] 



DECLINING SUMMER 

RELUCTANTLY the summer goes; 
The crimson radiance of the rose 
Is ashen in the garden-close. 

There is a pleading plaintiveness 
In the long hill-wind's low caress, 
Heart-moving and yet passionless. 

The noons are heavy with the heat, 
And still, save for the thin-drawn beat 
Of the cicada, shrilly-sweet. 

Faintly the groves begin to grieve, 
And grows more mournful eve by eve 
The music-web the thrushes weave. 

And Love, erewhile in vernal guise, 
Adown the land, in pensive wise, 
Now wanders with averted eyes. 



[ 6 4 ] 



SONG 

1KNOW that life is sweet 
From morn till night, 
With Love's unflagging feet 
To lead aright. 

I know that life is fair 
From dusk till dawn, 

With Love's protecting care 
To lean upon. 

I know that life is dear 

Beyond belief, 
With Love to share the tear 

Of joy or grief. 



1 6 5 ] 



THE WARDEN 

JUNE'S blossom-garden 
Hath the red rose for warden, — 
Sweet Love's inquisitor. 
" Ere ye may enter in," said the Red Rose, 
" Ye must swear fealty, 
And not alone to me, 
But likewise bind 
Body and soul and mind, 
Although it be not for thy heart's repose, 
To Love whom I am sign and signet for! " 
I came, and, nothing loth, 
Took ready oath, 
Hence wear I the Red Rose, 
(Divinest flower that blows!) 
And walk June's blossom-garden, glad to be 
Bounden forevermore to Love, — and thee! 



[ 66] 



THE LOVE-LETTER 

YOU ask for a love-letter, sweet, my sweet, 
You who are one with all the pulse and beat, 
The lure and flowerful loveliness, of Spring, 
Its sunlight and its laughter, and the ring 
Of low and liquid music. In my heart 
Are singing words that flutter and that start 
Toward trembling utterance at the thought of you; 
Yet ere I voice them — every one as true 
As stars are to the midnight with no cloud — 
They join and jostle in so close a crowd 
That, haply, when you hear them you will say, 
" He but half loves me, else in clearer way 
Would he the height and depth of love disclose." 
You would not ask the rose to limn the rose, 
The sunset to describe its varied beam; 
Then why the heart to picture its one dream 
Ineffable? Yet, since you ask it, I 
Must bid my heart, as best it may, comply! 

You ask for a love-letter, love, my love; 

Ah, well, I know it should be woven of 

Moonlight and melody; gold rays and chords 

Such as breathe softly over shaded swards 

When twilight steals across the face of day, 

About the midmost of enamored May. 

And there should be within it fused and caught 

[ 6 7 ] 



All delicacy and fragrances of thought 

Such as about you linger evermore. 

There should be rapt and radiant metaphor, — 

How you are like the wind-flower in your grace; 

How sunshine plays at frolic o'er your face 

With shadowy pensiveness ; how your sweet eyes 

Mirror the depths of summer-morning skies. 

You ask for a love-letter. Ah, my own, 
For all you miss let my intent atone, — 
My high intent that still must fall below 
What I would win to so that you might know 
The scope of adoration, and the whole 
Love-wealth of worship dwelling in my soul. 



[ 68 ] 



LOVE'S VAGRANT 

NORTH and south and east and west 
I have roamed a weary while, 
But have found no restful bourn 
Like the garden of thy smile. 

North and south and east and west 
I have strayed in errant wise, 

But have seen no guiding gleam 
Like the lovelight of thine eyes. 

North and south and east and west 
I have watched the day's eclipse, 

But have won no precious meed 
Like the guerdon of thy lips. 

North and south and east and west 
Vagrant still I roam and roam, 

Hearkening through the lonely night 
For thy voice to call me home. 



[ 6 9 ] 



A SUMMER SONG 

A RUBY droops the raspberry ; 
The plum grows rounder on the tree; 
The green nut swells within the burr; 
The quince's cheek begins to fur; 

'Tis summer still, my Sylvia, 
Beloved, let us cling to her! 

Alas, she will not long delay! 
The old, irremeable way 
Opes even now, wheredown her feet 
Will glide in shimmering retreat; 

Yet is she ours a little while, 
O let us cherish her, my sweet ! 

Yea, let us lose no moment of 
The honey-hearted hours we love! 
Aye, let us list each dulcet tone, 
Breathe every orient perfume blown 

From the rich attar of her heart ! — 
Make summer's very soul our own! 

So shall we gain intrepitude 
'Gainst winter's poignancy of mood; 
Store sweets against the barren bowers, 
And song against the silent hours! 

And, guerdoned thus, contented wait 
The spring's processional of flowers! 

[ 70] 






THE WANE O' THE MOON 

DO you know the wane o' the moon? 
I' faith, it is then 
That the shadows march out of the glen 
Like the marching of men 
To an eery, dreary tune; 
And the hounds howl, 
And there quavers the hoot of the owl; 
And the pines sigh, 
As a shudder of wind goes by; 
And the ghosts creep 
From the vasts of the dark and the deep; 
And the brook grieves, 
And the leaves! 

Do you know the wane o' the moon? 

Then the night grows chill, 

And mystery works its will 

From the height of the hill 

To the darkling depth of the dune. 

Then dreams wait 

For the gap of the Ivory Gate; 

And when it opes, 

Oh, the jostling of joys and of hopes! 

Then there cometh to me 

A rapture of visionry, — 

A dream without blemish or blur 

Of her — of her! 

[ 7i ] 



ELUSION 

CLEAVAGE of sea and sky, 
Ever elusive line, 

Though I follow it far, 
Far as the Ultimate Isles, 
Never it seems more nigh, — 
Shifting shadow and shine, — 
Dim as a distant star 
That beckons and beguiles. 

Dawn-dream of my heart, 
Dusk-dream of my soul, 
Though I follow thee long 
Into the night's deep shades, 
Never attained thou art, 
Never I gain the goal; 
Thou art like a song 

That ever and ever evades. 



[ 72 ] 



A LOVER'S SONG 

I FEEL for you such tenderness 
As the still twilight skies express, 
What time the vernal vesper star, 
Love's radiant beacon, flowers afar, 
And there is scarce a gleam to see 
Of all the sunset's pageantry. 

I feel for you such tenderness 

As the low-breathing winds express, 

When, with faint smiles of pearl and fawn, 

Begins the wonder of the dawn 

That grows and grows until, behold, — 

The morning's miracle of gold! 

I feel for you such tenderness 

As soft bird-melodies express, 

When halcyon-heavened noontide throws 

Its thrall about the garden-close, 

Where roses, white and crimson, vie 

In fair and fragrant rivalry. 

I feel for you such tenderness, — 
Ah, love, how can weak words express, 
Or sight, or sound, or anything, 
The whole year round from spring to spring, 
Each sad or singing season through, 
The tenderness I feel for you? 
[ 73 ] 



MY DREAMS 

ALL night in dreams with thee I go 
About the glamoured land; 
All night Love's radiant presence know,- 
The kiss, the clasp of hand. 

But with the white in-steal of dawn 

The rapture doth escape; 
The wraith that was no wraith is gone, 

A sweet, elusive shape. 

Away, O barren of delight, 

Day, with thine empty gleams! 

Return, divine enchantress, night, 
And bring me back my dreams! 



[ 74 ] 



MY SPIRIT SOMETIMES GOES 

MY spirit sometimes goes 
Up and down with the wind ; 
And I scent the stinging arctic snows, 
And all the attars of Ind. 

I know the wild thyme bloom, 

And Araby's laden airs; 
But best I love the faint perfume 

Of the violets Sylvia wears. 

Delicate as they are, 

Sentient with sorcery, 
Yet are they flowery fathoms far 

Less marvel sweet than she! 



[ 75 ] 



AN AUTUMN IDYL 

SWEETHEART, do you recall — I know you 
do! — 
That autumn noontide when athwart the blue 
And daffodilian gold of heaven no blur 
Of vapor floated, and a silvery chirr 
Of choiring crickets made a clear accord 
With our wood-straying footsteps? On the sward, 
Vermeil and bronze and amber, lay the leaves. 
How we plashed through them till, as wind the 

sheaves, 
We rustled them to music! Asters still 
Were amethystine underneath the hill, 
And a belated dandelion's sheen 
Was like an ingot dotted in the green. 
A lagging psyche looped above, and then 
Zigzagged before us, and a lonely wren 
Fluted from out the shade-depth. Variant ways . 
The dim paths pierced the forest. We at gaze 
Stood for a smiling moment ere we chose. 
The rondure of your cheek was like the rose 
Of mid-most June in some hedge-girdled close, 
And like twin firstling violets your eyes 
Pledged love with mine in most confiding wise. 

Through oaken aisles and beechen coppices 
We footed upward, while a whispering breeze 
Companioned us beguilingly, with hints 

[ 76 ] 



Of pungent attars and of spicy mints, 

And murmurings such as stir among the palms, 

Set 'mid Bermudan and Bahaman calms, 

What time the south breathes lutingly. Below, 

At length we saw druidic row on row 

And group on group of ancient hemlocks lift 

Their massy boles, and where a rent or rift 

Gave chance the sun flung in a streamer bold, 

And freaked the girdling gloom with crystal gold. 

Where leaped the light alluringly across 
A brackened dip anigh a mound of moss 
We stayed our steps and spread our forest fare. 
How winsomely the amber strands of hair 
Crinkled about your forehead! How your lips' 
Ripe crimson threw in delicate eclipse 
The pigeon-berries on the vine anear! 
And then you spoke. Ah, what delight more dear 
Than the unconscious radiance of your smile? 
Our world that day was as a little isle 
Set in the vasts of ocean, where no care 
Comes ever, and the circumambient air 
Is always hyacinthine. What was said 
That we hold hallowed. But if converse led 
After awhile from one beloved theme, 
As sure as seeks the magnet sea the stream, 
Backward we drifted. Then the pause that came 
Was as an ecstasy no words can name. 
[ 77 ] 



How the hours fled ! Ah, pitilessly fleet ! 
And yet, and yet, unutterably sweet, 
Till warning shadows round about us drew. 
Sweetheart, do you recall? I know you do! 



[ 78 ] 



LOVE IN NOVEMBER 

LOVE, whose loveliness is one 
With the sky and earth and sun, 
Through the umber-colored land 
Let us wander hand in hand 
One last time, while nature's mood 
Yet reveals beatitude! 

Still in the deep aster's dye 
Linger glintings of your eye; 
Still the drooping barberry shows 
How your lips out-burn the rose; 
Still the golden-rod doth bear 
Ore half rivaling your hair; 
And the drifting milkweed down 
Moves above the carpet brown 
That the leaves in quiet strow 
No more graceful than you go ! 

So, though spring be in your wiles, 
Summer in your radiant smiles, 
Transient autumn claims you, too, 
Oh, most tender and most true ! 
And this morning clear and sharp, 
With the old wind at his harp, 
How like you it is, with all 
Of its freshness prodigal, 
As devoid of any stain 
As the white November rain ! 
[79] 



Through the umber-colored land 
Let us wander hand in hand, 
Love, whose loveliness is one 
With the sky and earth and sun! 



[ so] 



IN A SNOW STORM 

WATCHING the snowflakes whisked and 
whirled 
In ceaseless to and fro, 
About the boundaries of the world 
She lets her white thoughts go. 

And one of those white thoughts of hers 

To me comes drifting down 
As I sit brooding 'mong the firs 

Above this gray old town. 

Into my heart that waif of grace 

Sinks, nestling like a dove; 
Ah, what are all the bounds of space 

If thought be winged by love! 



[ 81 ] 



OUT OF THE ORIENT 



[ 83 ] 



AT THE DESERT'S MARGE 

I CAN still recall, though the lapse is long 
Since that spectral hour of even-song, 
How the sun from the desert sky-line made 
The pyramids cast a wedge of shade 
Toward the tawny river, and how the moon, 
Over the minarets peering soon, 
Flung the segment of shadow back, 
Long and peaked and purple-black, 
While the Sphinx, inscrutable, brooded by, 
And the gaunt bats gathered momently, 
Swooping and circling here and there, 
Like evil dreams, in the haunted air ; 
And a great flamingo, winged in flight, 
A giant rose in the gloaming light. 

I still can hear from far aloof, 

Drifting out from a wattled roof 

And a blistered clay wall bare and mean, 

The cheerless chant of the fellaheen, — 

A medley of shrilly barbarous bars 

Jangling and jostling up to the stars. 

I still can catch, divinely blent, 
The clove and citron and jasmine scent 
From the distant gardens and orchards blown 
Out to the marge of the desert zone ; 

[ 8 5 ] 



And still can feel about me cast 
The clutching spell of the veiled and vast 
And never-fathomed wide sand sea, — 
Its ancient magic and mystery. 

Here might the flower of wonder ope, — 

The mystical lotus-bloom of Hope, — 

Showing a calyx where, opal-wise, 

Glisten the dews of Paradise. 

Here might the dreams that the Prophet knew,- 

Marvel and miracle, — come true; 

The genii-guarded gates of Doom 

Rise from their infinite depths of gloom; 

Heaven descend, and its portals swing 

Back with ethereal cadencing, 

And a voice of more than mortal breath 

Whisper the secret of life and death. 



[86] 



LEBANON 

IMMEMORIAL cedar groves; 
Valleys where the shepherd roves; 
Peaks of purple ; cinnabar 
Slopes, and fields where poppies are, 

Each a little mimic sun, 
And at night the matchless star 
Leaning over Lebanon ! 

Vast horizons; shattered shrines; 
Terraces that verdant vines, 
Arbor linking arbor, drape, — 
Where the sleek skins of the grape 

Yield the ichor of the sun ; 
Taste, and who would fain escape 

Out of golden Lebanon? 

Far above, its crest aglow, 
Hermon filleted with snow; 
Far below, the Tyrian sea, 
A great turquoise, dreamily 

Turning topaz in the sun ; 
Soul and sense you hold in fee, 

O alluring Lebanon! 



[ 8 7 ] 



To have seen you, evermore 
Means to yearningly deplore 
Life where paler glories fret 
With remembrance and regret; 

Ah, to linger where the sun, — 
Allah's shield exalted set, — 

Shines o'er lovely Lebanon! 



[ 88 ] 



BALLAD OF ACHMED PASHA 

He thought him wise, — Achmed Pasha, — 
And he merrily laughed — " ha! ha! ha! ha!" 

ACHMED PASHA was a doughty man, 
The ruler of every class and clan 
Where sparkling Barada rippled and ran, — 
Barada, called by the Greeks of old 
Chrysorrhoas, the stream of gold. 
And he swore one night on the steps that led 
To the tomb of Saladin — valiant dead ! — 
" By the Prophet's beard," was the oath he made, 
" Ere the closing day of the Ramadan 
Shall the cursed Christian dogs be flayed ! " 

Then through the streets from gate to gate 
Crept, like a venomous snake, the word; 
And when the ears of the rabble heard, 
There was sound of the sharpening scimitar 
Under the sun and under the star ; 
Arab, Turkoman, Druse and Kurd, 
How they looked alert, and laughed elate 
A hungry laugh, — " ha! ha; " — 
O a wily man was Achmed Pasha ! 

The citron bloom, like the foam of the sea, 

Tossed in the south wind snowily, 

And he whispered, sunk in his deep divan, 

[ 8 9 ] 



" This very night shall the flaying be! " 
While through a myriad tones and tints, — 
Prismy glamours and rainbow glints, — 
Without the fount in the courtyard ran. 

From alley dim and from portal black, 
From sinuous lane and from cul-de-sac, 
Unmasked Murder stole, and the night, 
As far as Lebanon's purple height, 
Heard the tumult that grew and grew 
As the frenzied Moslems sacked and slew. 
And when the sanguine torch of the dawn 
Out of the east o'er the desert shone, 
Damascus streets showed a deeper dye 
Than that which gleamed in the morning sky; 
And down from his casement-sill — " ha! ha! 
The dogs are flayed! " laughed Achmed Pasha. 

Then over the crest of Lebanon, 

And the sapphire waves of the inland main, 

Did an awful rumor rise and run 

Of thousands, aye, upon thousands slain 

To the lilt of a laugh. Did he dream {ha! ha!) 

Of what he had roused, Achmed Pasha? 

Ye may cuff the cur, ye may scorn and spurn, 

But there comes a day when the dog will turn! 



[ 90] 



So there gathered a fleet that into the east 
Sailed and sailed till the Syrian line 
Of serried mountain peaks increased, 
The palm up-climbing to meet the pine. 
Then rank upon rank of shimmering steel 
Swept the passes of Lebanon, 
And down on the city dazed with sun 
And slaughter the vengeful legion bore, 
Nor paused in their onward swing and wheel 
Till they grounded arms at the palace door 
Where the Pasha cowered and shivered. Aha, 
What a sorry sight was Achmed Pasha! 

They reared them a gallows stanch and high 

Beneath the cope of the Syrian sky; 

And they haled him forth from his soft divan, 

This wise (or was he a foolish) man! 

And that he might have some scope for glee 

They gathered a little company 

Of his boon companions, — two or three; 

And then, at a sign, — " ha! ha! ha! ha! " 

They made an end of Achmed Pasha. 

The tale has a moral, I'd fain attest, — 

A saying as fair as the goodliest, — 

That the man who laughs the last laughs best. 



[91 ] 



AN ORIENTAL SUNRISE 

OUT of the desert the sun 
Leaps, and the night is done; 
Forth from the almond close 
A song aspires, and the rose 
Raises its radiant head, 
While the prismy dews are shed 
From the slim papyrus reeds 
Where the singing water speeds. 
Each sand-grain seems a speck 
Of gold, and the snowy neck 
Of the dove into silver gleams 
Where the slender minaret dreams 
Toward the vault, of a sudden dyed 
With a sapphire glorified. 
Hark, there's a stir in the khans! 
And the tented caravans, — 
Crouching camels and men, — 
Are smitten to life again! 
Toward the holy Kaaba now 
Do the prayer-lipped Faithful bow, 
Lifting their orisons; 
Then a rumor rises and runs, — 
Presage of din and jars, — 
Through all of the long bazaars. 
Jasmined lattices ope 
To the golden wings of Hope; 
[ 92 ] 



The shadows throng no more, 
For the amber lights have play; 
And forth from his unbarred door 
Love looks out on the day. 



[ 93 ] 



IN GADARA 

DO you recall, sweet, how the spring 
Came up the glade of Gadara, 
With bourgeoning and blossoming 
As in the gardens of the Shah, — 
How morning from her gold-bright wing 
Flushed height and depth in Gadara? 

How all the poppy beacons flared, 

And every rathe anemone; 
How all the lovely lupins shared 

The heaven's turquoise clarity, — 
And blush-fair oleanders dared 

Their banners toss, — a rosy sea? 

And, sweet, do you remember, too, 

The bird voice in the carob bough, — 

Some magic minstrel hid from view, 
Vow lifting after lyric vow? — 

A troubadour who knew the clue 

To ope love's heart-gate, — when and how? 

Blithe, very blithe, the world seemed then, — 

(O golden day in Gadara!) 
The sky that leaned above the glen 

So like your eyes that wooed me; ah, 
Would we might live it o'er again, 

That day of days in Gadara! 
[ 94 ] 



DAY LILIES 

YOUR delicate perfume 
In the twilight-shadowed room 
Takes me back to an hour 
In the land of the lotus flower, 
With the lotus moon at bloom. 

From a lone papyrus isle 
In the gloam of the middle Nile 
A reed-flute's slender strain, 
Like a haunting heart refrain, 
Faltered and swelled the while. 

The desert stretched away, 

A symphony in gray, 

From the marge of the ancient stream 
Where the dark genii of dream 

Dwell for aye and a day. 

Then a little wind there came 
Wrought of the sun's clear flame 

And the night's cool breath, and bore 
A waft from an unknown shore 
Of a sweetness without name. 



[95 ] 



Elusive as a sigh, 

As the souPs ecstatic cry 

At the tremulous touch of love, 

It hovered about, above, 
Then passed like a phantom by. 

Passed; but it comes again 
Over the murk of the main, 

Back through the waste of years, 
The joy glints and the tears, 
The passion and the pain. 

Trifles, — how oft they start 
The gates of the past apart, — 

Just a hint of perfume 

In the twilight-shadowed room 
Stirring the chords of the heart! 



[96] 



A DESERT NIGHT 

LET us stray a little, you and I, 
Under the vast immensity 
That is dome to Allah's mosque, the sky! 

The myraid stars seem to sway and swing 
Like cressets, ring upon radiant ring, 
Now glowing and now vanishing. 

Silence girdles us, save for the bark 

Of jackals haunting the outer dark 

Where a Bedouin's camp-fire shows its spark. 

Yonder sleep in the shielding khan 
That shelters our way-worn caravan,— 
Horse and camel and woman and man. 

They are happy with trance and dream, 
And we with waking, and that one theme 
That lovers will love till the sun's last gleam. 

Azrael and Israfel, 

All the genii of heaven and hell, 

What are they when love's tale's to tell? 

Naught! — for the world-old night-wind saith 
Out of the void, with its lute-like breath 
Love is lord over Time and Death! 

[ 97 ] 



THE KHAN 

THERE is a ruined khan by Gennesar, 
The sapphire-bosomed lake of Galilee, 
Wherein aforetime many a company 
Found rest and food the while they journeyed far. 
Upon it now look Syrian sun and star, 

And in its roofless rooms and courtyard see 
Only the jackal prowling stealthily 
Where briars and vines in noisome meshes are. 

Some hearts there are that harbored high desires 
(Goodly the company that met therein, — 

Yearning for truth that evermore aspires, 

The burning hope, the faith that dares to win) 

That have been choked by vice's vines and briars 
Amidst which crept the slinking jackal, Sin! 



[ 98] 



BY HASBAN'S MARGE 

THERE is a lime by Hasban's marge 
Ancient of days and lordly large, 
And when within the Syrian sky 
The bright sun burns like Allah's targe, 
It's O beneath the boughs to lie, 
Unheeding how fleet time foots by! 

Thus lay I at the prime of noon ; 
The mountain breezes were aswoon, 

Aswoon the lyrics of the tree, — 
Its leafy laughter low of tune; 

And in the red anemone 

Hushed was the burden of the bee. 

And one soft stirred the zither strings 
Whose voice was like the Jordan springs, 
Whose cheeks revealed the sunset glow 
That shows upon the rose that flings 
Its petals to the winds that blow 
At twilight-tide o'er Jericho. 

She sang of love, and in her eyes, 
Lo, its eternal-tender dyes! 

She sang, and in her trancing tone, 
Lo, all love's deepest ecstasies 

Borne adown almond alleys lone 

In some far paradisal zone! 



There is a lime by Hasban; fain 
Am I beneath its boughs again 

To dream the dream that maid and man 
Dreamed to love's rapturous refrain 

When through the veins youth's ardors ran 

That golden noontide Syrian! 



[ ioo ] 



BY BARADA 

BY Barada the bloom is on the bough, — 
Almond, pomegranate, citron, nectarine, 
Soft rose and snow amid the emerald sheen; 
And when the moon-barque shows its silver prow 
Faint in the east, the bulbul lifts its vow 
O'er all the lovely leafage, and the green 
Outreach of mead to where the gaunt cliffs lean,- 
Grim Lebanon, with the ice upon its brow. 

By Barada there is a ruined shrine 

Sacred to Love, whereto, meseems, the bird 
Offers its music, word on golden word; — 

Sweet, though the shrine be shattered by the 
shore, 
Love's flame will shine, a beacon-light divine, 
Triumphant and unquenched forevermore! 



[ ioi ] 



FLAMINGOES 

O'ER the undulant emerald reach of rushes, 
Where the waters of old Nilus pour, 
Tinted as with rosy sunrise flushes, 

Silent wing they toward the Libyan shore. 

Types they are of mystery and wonder, 
As all else within this hoary land, — 

Pyramid and pylon rent asunder, 
And the tawny, ever-shifting sand. 

Radiant, remote and sense-evading, 

They are like a dream o'er which we joyed, 

Flashing on the vision and then fading 
In the golden-blue Egyptian void. 



[ ioz ] 



THE ZITHER PLAYER 

I STRAYED at sunset through Jerusalem, 
And, as I wandered, a declining ray 
Lingered upon a golden hyssop spray 
Until it shimmered like a wondrous gem. 
Reaching to pluck the blossom from its stem, 
I was held spell-bound by the zither play 
Of one beyond the crannied barrier gray 
Whereof this flower was the sole anadem. 

'Twas but a plaintive minor, yet compressed 
Within the strains there throbbed the soul of 
grief, 
A touch intangible that told of tears; 
It was as though the spirit found relief 
Through music, pouring from an anguished breast 
The sorrow of innumerable years. 



[ 103 J 



HASSAN AND HASSOUN 

SAID Hassan to Hassoun: 
" 'Twere a boon 
If this love that enfolds us as fire, 
This dream of delight and desire, 
That is torture at midnight and noon, 
Should lapse, should forever be laid 
In sepulture, a shadowless shade, 
Like a lifeless and lusterless moon," 
Said Hassan to Hassoun. 

Said Hassoun to Hassan: 

" You would ban 

All our days and our ways with a gloom 
Like the outermost regions of Doom! 

We should dwell in one long Ramadan, 
A fast with no feasting for aye, 
And beauty and bloom plucked away, 

And only a desert to scan," 

Said Hassoun to Hassan. 

Said Hassan to Hassoun: 

" 'Tis a tune 

That tricks us, this love, that allures, 
Till a frenzy engrips us no cures 

May allay, for all bird-voices croon, 

And the winds and the waves alike frame 
One lyrically maddening name, 
[ 104 ] 



A very device of Mahoun," 
Said Hassan to Hassoun. 

Said Hassoun to Hassan: 

" 'Tis a plan 

That Allah has shaped to uplift 

From the silt and the shard and the drift 

The spirit we christen as ' man ;' 
Through it do our eyes first behold 
What the word of the Prophet foretold, — 

Paradise, — for 'twas there love began," 

Said Hassoun to Hassan. 

Thus Hassan and Hassoun ! — 

Like a rune 

You may hear them run on and run on, 
Blithe Youth and Old Age that is wan, 

Disputing from midnight till noon. 

While each speaks, so solemn, his part, 
What is love but the same in the heart, 

Outlasting, an infinite span, 

Both Hassoun and Hassan! 



[ 105 ] 



A DRAGOMAN 
(Egypt) 

I STILL can see him, lean and languid-eyed; 
Beneath his fez his clear cut features dun 
With the swart touch of the Egyptian sun; 
A trifle stooped, yet with a hint of pride; 
I still can hear his soft voice like the tide 
Of Nile at nightfall when the stars have won 
Their immemorial places, and begun 
Their march across the desert, waste and wide. 

I still can feel about him the strange spell 
That dominates his land, a kindredship 
With all inscrutable and ancient things, 
And fancy, if he would, that he might tell 
The secrets of the Sphinx's sealed lip 

And of the pyramids and mummied kings. 



[ 106 ] 



KHALID ALI'S PRAYER 

In Lebanon, beneath the cedar shade, 

Amid the fragments of a shattered shrine, 

For his soul's ease young Khalid AH prayed 
To her whom men aforetime held divine. 

OTHOU that art my boon and bane, 
At dawn and at the daylight's wane, 
Look down upon thy worshiper 
With pity for his pain! 

^V radiant, unplucked rose I know, 
Fairer than that of Jericho, 

Than any attared blossom where 
The Pharpar's waters flow; 

Yea, than the rarest-petaled bloom 
Of Araby's oasis-loom; 

Than any crimson bud that decks 
The fanes of old Fayum. 

I have a tiny garden-space, — 
Meseems it is an empty place; 

Ah, how my heart yearns there to see 
This rose's peerless face! 



[ 107 ] 



Grant me the guerdon of this sight, 
O lovely Lady of Delight, 

And thine the myrtle-wreaths shall be, 
And every ancient rite! 

Allah will pardon me, for his 
The rose r s fragrant molding is; 

'Twas he who shaped her eyes to hold 
A dream of ecstasies; 

'Twas he who wrought from foam and fire 
Her lips, — a vision of desire! — 

Work thou this wonder, goddess, lest 
Thy devotee expire! 

In Lebanon, beneath the cedar shade, 

Amid the fragments of a shattered shrine, 

Thus, for his soul's ease, Khalid Ali prayed 
To her whom men aforetime held divine. 



[ 108] 



THE MERCHANT 

(Damascus) 

HIS eyes are like twin placid pools, by night 
O'er-shadowed, yet with glints of starlight 
there ; 
His voice is winning as the evening air, 
Wooing the rose in gardens of delight; 
His smile is like a ray flashed on the sight 
In some grim place that suddenly seems fair ; 
His thin hands move among the fabrics rare 
As deftly as a woman's, and as light. 

He shows you scarfs and shawls from far Cashmere, 
And rugs of Kermanshah with velvet pile 
And sheen of satin shimmering in the sun ; 
And should you dare to designate them " dear," 
What splendid indignation! Such the wile 
Whereby his aim ( likewise your gold ) is won ! 



[ 109 ] 



THE MEADS OF BESSIMA 

Once again to see them, ah, 
Matchless meads of Bessima! 

BY fleet waters glancing golden, 
Girdled as with dream they lie, 
Where, by stainless skies beholden, 
They are stainless a,s the sky. 

For while night, by Allah's guiding, 

Sows the blue with shimmering flowers, 

Here the day, through his confiding, 
Buildeth radiant blossom bowers. 

Out of all the tints of morning, — 
Sunrise arras, — are they made ; 

And they have for their adorning 
Arabesques of shine and shade. 

Spicy asphodelian attars 

O'er them hover, and the breeze 
A divine nepenthe scatters 

From the poppy-chalices. 

Here would I a House of Pleasure 
Rear, like fabled Kubla Khan ; 

Love should be my chiefest treasure, — 
Love beyond the ken of man. 
[ no ] 



At my doorway, on his zither 

Should the gay cicada play; 
And the bee should bear me thither 

His full bass for virelay. 

Wafted through the open lattice, 

There should falter, there should float, 

All the prisoned passion that is 
Compassed in the bulbul's note. 

I should know, — fond vision this is ! — 
Biding, Rose of Love, with you, 

All the Prophet's promised blisses 

At the bourn of Dreams-Come-True! 



[ i" ] 



APR 23 isu& 



